1687 East 900 South - Hempel House
March 2013
I'm John Hempel. I grew up from birth (1935) in the house on the North-west corner of Diestel and 9th South. I lived there until I went away to graduate school in 1957. The house is still in our family: with my sister Joan Haley taking over (1985) after the deaths of our parents, and her granddaughters Addie and Emma taking over (2007) after Joan's death.
One of my early memories is of watching horse drawn snowplows clearing the sidewalks on Diestel. Funny, I can never remember them on 9th South. Perhaps those walks were too narrow. Another early memory is of riding my tricycle off the retaining wall on the front of our lot. I had thought a lot about this before hand. I really wanted to fly. I was pretty sure that I couldn't, but I convinced myself that I might at least glide down to a safe landing. I didn't, but survived to repeat other foolhardy challenges.
A bit later there were the baseball games we played on Diestel. The organizers were the Mang brothers, George, Bill, and Richard. (2nd house from the SE corner of Diestel and 9th). As I remember their father had pitched in the major leagues and was quite a character. He would sometimes tell us stories or give us advice. Home plate was directly in front of the Mang house, and the field extended to the SW. I also remember that some of the owners of houses in left field disapproved of these games.
Diestel was also the ideal road for "hooking a ride" : a (fortunately) extinct sport that involved grabbing the rear bumper of a passing car, on a snow covered road, and sliding along behind it on your feet. Sadly, a neighborhood friend was killed doing this in his late teans.
Some of the other cohorts in these activities that I remember are Bobby Pembroke, Bobby Young (diminutive form was common then-- I was Johnny), Roland and Roger Finlayson, Parker Earle, and Mike Holt.
The gully was a fantastic resource for intrigue, adventure, nature, and beauty. During WW 2 we would play war games there. I recall one mission in which a couple of us crawled though the culvert under 9th South to surprise the (imaginary) enemy. Somehow, but a year or so later, my parents heard about this escapade. As I remember grates covering the entrances to the culvert were installed soon afterwards.
A bit later on many of us invented/discovered mountain biking in the gully. I remember a steep drop off on the north side which made a challenging jump -- or at least so we thought. Many of my friends had fat tired Schwinns (the precursor of the modern mountain bike). I had a bike brought back from Italy by my cousin Dev Jennings which was advertised as a "racing bike". It was one speed, but it did have narrow, tubeless, glue-on tires which were not suitable for rough terrain. There was a period when all my allowance was spent at Fred's Repair Shop (9th South and 9th East) on replacement tires.
Some of us were into skiing at an early age. We heard about the Pearl Harbor attack in the family car radio returning from Alta -- after we got far enough down the canyon to get reception. As the war progressed gasoline rationing made trips to the mountains rare. Unfortunately the gully wasn't good for skiing -- well we tried some cross country along the trails, but there was too much ground cover to do any down hill. There was one "black diamond" run at Bonneville golf course. It was only long enough for one turn, but it seemed worth the walking/thumbing we did to get there.
Our house had a basement -- with a coal bin which was used, I think, into the early 1950's. The basement was full of clutter -- mostly old and mysterious. The coal bin surely (could have) held buried corpses. One good friend, Rendell Mabey, and I spent hours in that basement, with the lights off, scaring ourselves with visions of weird sounds, movements, and anything else ghostly we could come up with. I wonder whether my grandchildren can fathom what an experience that was. Their lives seem so sheltered.
In the post-war, pre high school days our mountain biking progressed into the foot hills. We explored the range between Red Butte Mountain and Mill Creek Canyon quite extensively. When the biking got too difficult, we would dump the bikes and hike. Sometimes it was hard to find the bikes again, but we never had to walk all the way home. Dinosaur Rock was a favorite destination. Scrambling over those rock formations was another thing my friend Rendell and I did to scare ourselves. There were many great adventures during this period, but one thing is vivid in my memory. Before we set out on an expedition, we would pour a pile of salt on a sheet of waxed paper, fold it up and put it in our pocket. This was in case we managed to "find" some ripe tomatoes or green apples along the way. A ripe tomato, fresh off the vine and warmed by the sun, and with a sprinkle of salt is a truly marvelous thing! I would scold my grandkids for stealing fruit off somebody else's farm, but somehow, in this time, it didn't seem the same. I like to think that many of the owners had done the same thing as kids and expected it.
I'm John Hempel. I grew up from birth (1935) in the house on the North-west corner of Diestel and 9th South. I lived there until I went away to graduate school in 1957. The house is still in our family: with my sister Joan Haley taking over (1985) after the deaths of our parents, and her granddaughters Addie and Emma taking over (2007) after Joan's death.
One of my early memories is of watching horse drawn snowplows clearing the sidewalks on Diestel. Funny, I can never remember them on 9th South. Perhaps those walks were too narrow. Another early memory is of riding my tricycle off the retaining wall on the front of our lot. I had thought a lot about this before hand. I really wanted to fly. I was pretty sure that I couldn't, but I convinced myself that I might at least glide down to a safe landing. I didn't, but survived to repeat other foolhardy challenges.
A bit later there were the baseball games we played on Diestel. The organizers were the Mang brothers, George, Bill, and Richard. (2nd house from the SE corner of Diestel and 9th). As I remember their father had pitched in the major leagues and was quite a character. He would sometimes tell us stories or give us advice. Home plate was directly in front of the Mang house, and the field extended to the SW. I also remember that some of the owners of houses in left field disapproved of these games.
Diestel was also the ideal road for "hooking a ride" : a (fortunately) extinct sport that involved grabbing the rear bumper of a passing car, on a snow covered road, and sliding along behind it on your feet. Sadly, a neighborhood friend was killed doing this in his late teans.
Some of the other cohorts in these activities that I remember are Bobby Pembroke, Bobby Young (diminutive form was common then-- I was Johnny), Roland and Roger Finlayson, Parker Earle, and Mike Holt.
The gully was a fantastic resource for intrigue, adventure, nature, and beauty. During WW 2 we would play war games there. I recall one mission in which a couple of us crawled though the culvert under 9th South to surprise the (imaginary) enemy. Somehow, but a year or so later, my parents heard about this escapade. As I remember grates covering the entrances to the culvert were installed soon afterwards.
A bit later on many of us invented/discovered mountain biking in the gully. I remember a steep drop off on the north side which made a challenging jump -- or at least so we thought. Many of my friends had fat tired Schwinns (the precursor of the modern mountain bike). I had a bike brought back from Italy by my cousin Dev Jennings which was advertised as a "racing bike". It was one speed, but it did have narrow, tubeless, glue-on tires which were not suitable for rough terrain. There was a period when all my allowance was spent at Fred's Repair Shop (9th South and 9th East) on replacement tires.
Some of us were into skiing at an early age. We heard about the Pearl Harbor attack in the family car radio returning from Alta -- after we got far enough down the canyon to get reception. As the war progressed gasoline rationing made trips to the mountains rare. Unfortunately the gully wasn't good for skiing -- well we tried some cross country along the trails, but there was too much ground cover to do any down hill. There was one "black diamond" run at Bonneville golf course. It was only long enough for one turn, but it seemed worth the walking/thumbing we did to get there.
Our house had a basement -- with a coal bin which was used, I think, into the early 1950's. The basement was full of clutter -- mostly old and mysterious. The coal bin surely (could have) held buried corpses. One good friend, Rendell Mabey, and I spent hours in that basement, with the lights off, scaring ourselves with visions of weird sounds, movements, and anything else ghostly we could come up with. I wonder whether my grandchildren can fathom what an experience that was. Their lives seem so sheltered.
In the post-war, pre high school days our mountain biking progressed into the foot hills. We explored the range between Red Butte Mountain and Mill Creek Canyon quite extensively. When the biking got too difficult, we would dump the bikes and hike. Sometimes it was hard to find the bikes again, but we never had to walk all the way home. Dinosaur Rock was a favorite destination. Scrambling over those rock formations was another thing my friend Rendell and I did to scare ourselves. There were many great adventures during this period, but one thing is vivid in my memory. Before we set out on an expedition, we would pour a pile of salt on a sheet of waxed paper, fold it up and put it in our pocket. This was in case we managed to "find" some ripe tomatoes or green apples along the way. A ripe tomato, fresh off the vine and warmed by the sun, and with a sprinkle of salt is a truly marvelous thing! I would scold my grandkids for stealing fruit off somebody else's farm, but somehow, in this time, it didn't seem the same. I like to think that many of the owners had done the same thing as kids and expected it.